


Play Something For Me

by mustachio



Series: Deaf Manolo [1]
Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deaf Manolo, Gen, Sadness, but not really angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustachio/pseuds/mustachio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manolo may not be talking about the slow loss of his hearing, but that doesn't mean Carlos is going to let him go through it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Something For Me

Carlos finds Manolo sitting out under the tree at the gates of San Angel. His guitar is thrown haphazardly to the side, dirt and dead grass getting into the crevices. The little wooden sword Joaquín had fashioned him years ago lying a few feet away from it. Manolo himself is sitting hunched over, knees up to his chest, and face buried in his arms.

“Shouldn’t you be home getting ready for practice?” He calls, but Manolo doesn’t look up. Carlos isn’t surprised. Manolo rarely responds when people call out to him these days.

It isn’t until Carlos has taken a seat next to his son and put a hand on Manolo’s shoulder to get his attention that Manolo seems to even realize that he’s there. Manolo jumps, startled by the sudden contact, and looks at Carlos with wide eyes. He looks away while he tries to calm himself down. His hands curl into fists in the dirt, swallows hard to push down the nerves. Carlos wait until he’s looking again to say anything and doesn’t miss the way Manolo focuses a little too hard on his lips as they form the words.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

Manolo shrugs. “I was saying goodbye to Joaquín.”

“He left hours ago. Is there any reason you’ve been out here since then?” He squeezes Manolo’s shoulder, a reassurance that he won’t get mad at whatever answer he gets. Manolo still looks pained when he responds.

“I just didn’t want to go home.”

Carlos sighs. It’s possible, of course, that Manolo only doesn’t want to go home to avoid his training. It’s more likely, he knows, that he just wants to avoid anyone talking to him. They sit in silence for minutes that seem to stretch on into eternity. Manolo stares out ahead of them at the city that shines under the sunlight. Carlos wonders what’s going through his head, wonders what he could say that would bring back the Manolo that hated silence and never let a moment pass without his guitar in his hands. He wonders if Carmen would know what to say to make things better. He wonders if Joaquín is too far to bring him back for Manolo’s sake and if Manolo has even confided in him at all. Does María know that her parting gift now goes mostly unused? Or has Manolo left his friends to figure everything out for themselves the way he has with his family?

 _Do you want to see a doctor?_  Carlos almost asks, but the words can’t seem to make it out of his throat. Does  _Carlos_ want Manolo to see a doctor? Can he bring himself to give life to whatever is afflicting his son in a way none of them have thus far?

He sighs and gets up, needlessly brushing at his clothes to get the dirt off. Manolo watches him carefully, probably expecting Carlos to leave. He doesn’t. Rather than leave, Carlos walks to where the guitar is lying and picks it up. He shakes out and brushes away as much of the dirt as he can and brings it back over to Manolo, retaking his spot on the ground.

“Why don’t you play something for me?”

Manolo squints at him, not seeming to fully understand what Carlos is asking so Carlos hands the guitar over instead of repeating himself. The hesitance that comes before Manolo accepts the instrument sends a sharp stab of pain through his heart. He can’t deny that he has never been the biggest fan of Manolo’s passion for music, but this is not the way he was hoping for it to fade.

But even with the guitar in his hands, Manolo does nothing with it. It sits uselessly in his lap while Manolo stares down at it as though he isn’t quite sure how to play. He pushes it off of his lap, letting it land in the dirt once again.

“I don’t think I want to play anymore.”

The pain that runs through Carlos’s heart is more than a stab this time. He forces himself to laugh, a harsh sound that sounds as genuine as it is. Manolo is no longer looking at him and doesn’t react.

“You, Manolo Sanchez, don’t want to play guitar anymore? I never thought I’d see the day!”

Still, Manolo says nothing, gives no acknowledgement that he even heard. Carlos would gladly put an end to Manolo’s training if only he would pick up the guitar and pluck at the strings again. He puts his hand on Manolo’s shoulder again to get his attention. Manolo turns his head to look at Carlos once more.

“Don’t give up on music just because you’re going through a hard time. A Sanchez man does not give up.”

Manolo shrugs Carlos’s hand off. He stands and kicks the guitar when he walks away.

“What do you care? You said ‘music isn’t fit for a Sanchez bullfighter.’” Carlos cringes at Manolo’s impression of him, less for the terrible imitation and more for the words being thrown back in his face. He takes the guitar with him as he follows Manolo, taking a few long strides to catch up. He stops in front of Manolo, kneeling down on one knee to try and put them at the same height. He doesn’t try to hand the guitar back again, but he keeps it in full view so that Manolo has to see it in his periphery.

“Forget what I said. That was years ago! You know, music runs in the family. Your great-grand uncle, Jorge, once wanted to be an opera singer.” Carlos’s smile is small, hopeful.

Manolo doesn’t seem to be swayed by this new information.

“Yeah and he became a bullfighter instead.” He walks past Carlos again without so much as looking at the guitar. The look on his face clearly says that he’s figured out for himself that the decision for Jorge to give up music was probably not a willing one.

Carlos catches Manolo buy the arm, turning him with just enough force that Manolo can see his face.

“Please, Manolo, for me. Don’t give up. Music is part of who you are.” He pushes the guitar out to Manolo who stares at it for a long moment before taking it.

“Fine. If it means that much to you.” Manolo sounds nothing short of resigned, but Carlos considers it progress despite his better judgement.

He gathers Manolo in his arms and just holds him. It takes a few moments, but Manolo hugs him back as best he can with the guitar in one hand. They remain like that for a full minute before Carlos pulls away just enough that Manolo can see him when he speaks.

“I love you, mijo, no matter what. Always remember that.”

“I love you, too, papá.”

Manolo smiles and though it’s small and fragile, it’s something that wasn’t there before.


End file.
